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Silver Dawn: Catalyst
The sun is casting shadows, An afternoon is fading, I ask, but no one knows, The answer to the question... 'The Base of the Aegis ' ---- ::A level, grassy plain extends from the base of the brown and gray stone of the Aegis, a wall more than six hundred feet tall that encircles the realm of Fastheld. Blue-green shrubs are nestled around lumps of granite that protrude here and there. ::There is very little that marks this section of the Aegis as being any different than the others, save for the looming vista that is the Mikin township of Wedgecrest upon the southern horizon. ::However, if one were to look closely, one might notice that a single slab stone within this part of the Aegis is not in fact stone at all, but a block of pure obisidian ore, hardly distinguishable from the dark and weather chunks of granite that form the rest of the monolithic bulwark. ---- At the base of the Aegis, to the immediate north of the Pathfinder Camp, a single ranger of the Pathfinder creed seems to stand alone as he considers the wall in front of him. It would appear to those looking on from within the main camp that he looks to be waiting for something - or, perhaps, someone - as he stands here. One might also note that he stands with his right palm pressed firmly against the granite of that vast bulwark, like one would feel for a pulse within a mighty behemoth. "You seem of a mind to push the wall over with a nudge," speaks the soft-toned voice of the tall, silver-haired stranger from another time, with glowing blue eyes, who emerges from behind one of the clusters of shrubs near the great Aegis wall. His slender fingers lace together behind his back as he quietly moves to stand beside Serath Kahar. He stops, momentarily fixes his attention on the hand the nobleman has pressed against stone, and then his gaze travels up toward the top of the wall and beyond, to the stars themselves. "You beckoned. I am here." "I was wondering when you'd show up." the Prince admits in that level, regal purr of his, pushing away from that wall with that pressed palm before turning to look upon silver-haired stranger to his side. The previously pressed palm shifts now to rest upon the pommel of steel longsword that sleeps in the scabbard upon his hip. "I'd quip that you're late, though from what I understand of your kind you are neither ever late nor early, but merely are." He sighs at that; self depreciation within the tone of the soft, wordless expression. "Besides, I imagine such flippancy would be lost upon you, somehow." "Your need for flippancy is a cause for some puzzlement, I admit," Marrokamir replies, lifting his glimmering brows above luminescent eyes. "I inferred no need for great haste. Further, it is no small thing that you seek. Preparation is critical. We must not undertake such endeavors lightly." "I imagine it's a trait of my species that even the Dragons have yet to understand; although I'm told that Val'sharax is fond of such quirks." the Prince replies in regards to elaborating on the first of Marrokamir's statements, looking back upon the Aegis as the topic shifts to the matter at hand. "Would be that it were a small issue, yes, but I assure you we're quite aware of what it is that we wish to undertake. Make no mistake-" The prince looks upon his strange companion once more, a knowing smile lighting his features, "Dragons rarely take things lightly." "Indeed," Marrokamir agrees. His brow furrows and a frown etches onto his face as he studies the intricacies of ancient stone rising before him. "Then you no doubt understand the risks. You know what has come to pass before. You know what consequences may befall Il'ish'ahlashar if we cannot control the energies involved." "I do." Serath admits, a certain steel lending itself to the two simple words. "Though perhaps you do not." the Prince then states in a voice not his own; a strange, lilting voice that holds deep wisdom and the undercurrents of power within its tone. A voice as depthless as the voids of oblivion and as timeless as history itself. The unmistakable voice of a great dragon. "For the Light has evidently spared you from such an event that has already come to pass, Marrokamir. A cataclysm of raw force and unbridled catastrophe that even we could not control, and one that sundered the world that we call Sho'drakar in the Draconian tongue. Do you yet know the fate of your people, or why you feel so alone upon this world that you know as home, yet that is not home?" The shift in voice seems not to faze Marrokamir, but the words spoken by that voice weigh upon him with each syllable like the heaping of one stone upon another. His shoulders sink and he stares wordlessly at the grassy earth that binds him to the here and now. "I know that I cannot hear their minds. I have searched the archives that pass for bastions of knowledge in this wretched place, but it is as though all that we were and all that became of us, all that *was* Il'ish'ahlashar, was blown away like so much dust in a maelstrom." His shimmering eyes return to the mouthpiece of the drake: "I would know the truth. Enlighten me and I will do as you bid." "Very well, Marrokamir. Your trade is accepted." Serath nods at the words that are not his own, his ice-blue gaze shifting back upon the Aegis as he once again presses his right palm against the cold stone - but not just any stone. His hand makes contact with one that is so subtly out of place as to have gone unnoticed for six centuries: a stone of pure reflective obsidian. "It ended here, with this stone." the lilting voice of a dragon notes, Serath closing his eyes as another voice elaborates the tale of Marrokamir's people. "Yet it began many, many, centuries before. One ending leading to another beginning; a beginning that, too, must have an ending of its own." "For as long as time forgotten our two races had shared this contested world in relative harmony. Some among your kind worshipped us as gods; others barted with us as equals. At times we were as kin, regardless of our differences, and at others we maintained respectful distances.” “Yet, through all our exchanges, we held mutual respect for each other; we, the Drakar’ri, ancient and wise. You, the Kamir, young and powerful, eager to learn what we had to teach. You made excellent students, and we reveled in our role as teachers. Yet, as all things must, there comes a time when the student seeks to surpass the teacher." "The Drakar’ri dwell here still, while the Kamir ... " The tall offworlder's voice trails away for a few moments of silence as he considers the implications of the words uttered through Serath's mouth. "Did you smite them for their insolence?" His voice isn't raised - it remains even, curious. "Did your people slaughter mine to prevent our ascension?" "If only such tales were so simple, Marrokamir." that lilting voice laments, Serath shaking his head in a mournful manner. Unseen, a sad smile caresses his features; the Prince evidently sharing in the memory of another creature. "As the power of the Kamir blossomed, so too did the ambitions of those among you that believed that your race to be superior; that wished nothing more than to take what they claimed was theirs, and who believed that the Drakar’ri were holding such a prize captive from them." "Perhaps you remember such elements spoken in hushed whispers from the period from whence fate delivered you? They were small, and the majority paid them little heed or attention. Yet small cracks have a habit of growing into deep fissures, and there were those among your people who began to fear the potential that these rogue elements may have harbored." "From within the sparks of such concerns arose a great prophet: Timon'kamir. He alone foretold of a great rift between our two species, and he alone captured the hearts and imagination of your kind in speaking of the great evils that would be wrought against both the Kamir and the Drakar’ri should the path of the insurgent be walked upon. Yet for all his good intent, Timon'kamir would prove to be both the savior of your people, /and/ the architect of your destruction." "Timon'kamir spoke of a coming conflict between our two species - a conflict that would be inevitable unless the Kamir returned to the old ways of mutual respect and learning. Yet his warning was twisted by those who could not see beyond their own limited skills of reasoning. If such a fate was inevitable, they claimed, then the Kamir must strike first to prevent the Drakari from bringing about such a future." "And so they did, and the prophecy of Timon'kamir became self-fulfilling." "I knew Timon'kamir," the silver-haired stranger says, his voice carrying a hint of sadness. "I was on my way to meet with him the day I ... crossed time, to the Il'ish'ahlashar of this when. He spoke on occasion of that premonition, but only in private and only after securing a vow of secrecy that I dared not betray. Timon'kamir was charismatic, but he could be vengeful too." "Timon'kamir was not without resource, however." Serath continues in the voice is that most certainly not his own, his stance remaining unchanging as he evidently serves as a tether for whatever it is that speaks through him. "Once the extent of the path of self-destruction that his words had unwittingly set in motion became clear to him, he remained true to the old traditions of your people and sought out a Dragoness by the name of Sara'tharalax for aid. Though there were those among the Drakar’ri, such as Val'sharax and his patriarch, Xil'varath, who eagerly awaited the hostility of your people, there were others who would not wish to take part in such a conflict unless they had to." "The collision of the two races was an inevitable conclusion, they decided, and the arcane forces that would be unleashed in that event would sunder this world and have implications even beyond it. However, as Timon'kamir's prophecy has lead to two outcomes - that of salvation and destruction - so too would the culmination of that oracle." "While those who would seek war would have it, those who sought to escape it would use the raw energy to fuel their own ascension beyond this lost world, seeking the stars as their haven and the worlds beyond it as their new home, free of that which had provoked it. And so, Marrokamir, the Drakar’ri and the Kamir clashed, as the prophecy had foretold, and a great Cataclysm devoured that which you name as Il'ish'ahlashar was consumed within the fires of that exchange." "Of Timon'kamir, I cannot say; Sara'tharalax and those who aided her in her quest to send this curious prophet and his followers towards the stars succeeded in their task, yet it was not without loss. Those Kamir who remained behind are now buried beneath the land upon which they fought, and many of my kind fell to their own ambitions and bloodlust as well. Sara'tharalax was among them; yet hers was a different fate. Consumed by powers that even she could not understand, she was bound to this land in eternal undeath, while your own soared to the heavens as creatures of purity and essence." "And that," Serath finally offers, his voice his own once more as he falls to his knees, "Is the tale of this world. How my kind came to be here and witness all of this is a mystery that even Sara can't explain; one which remains little more than a footnote, all told." Marrokamir sighs as the drake's tale ends and the voice of the Prince returns. "None of this would have happened if I had not been displaced in time that day." His eyes seek the stars in the sky above while a slender palm touches the cool stone of the Aegis. "I was engaged by the Six Moon Circle to assassinate Timon'kamir before he could spread his mad talk of conflict and expansion. Instead, I passed through that rift from then to now. He was spared. Our world was lost." The Prince is silent for a while as he remains there on his knees in front of the Aegis that looms ahead of him. "The cataclysm was not without consequence either." he offers, softly, finally finding the strength to pull himself to his feet once more, "Although I'm not sure of the details, it was not an event that washed clean a slate upon which we could rebuild. The dragons went into retreat, licking their wounds while swearing that such an event would never be permitted to pass. Those that would seek to command the world anew were contained and forced into captivity. Creatures twisted by shadow began to stalk the lands, many of whom we now call the Wildlings, though there are far more dangerous things beyond what we know, I'm sure." "It was these Wildlings that provoked my kind to build this bulwark via the use of the darker aspects of the weave that they feared. It was the fear of those who wielded such power that caused my ancestors to banish them from this Empire. It was the hatred of this Empire that caused those same insurgents to curse this wall and smother all sparks of that which we name as the Light. It is the suffocation of the Light that has given rise to great darkness. Thus has history repeated itself in an abstract turn of events." "You would have the curse removed, then," Marrokamir ventures. Serath finally turns to nod an affirmation towards Marrokamir. "I would seek to restore the Light to Fastheld." he offers. "As I would seek to prevent the prophecy of Timon'kamir from coming true a second time." the lilting voice of a dragoness adds in kind; to which Serath can only smile. "To bathe Fastheld in the light of a silver dawn and undo that which has been damaged. To restore the balance between the three aspects of Light, Shadow, and those who fall beyond both. Indeed, that is my wish... and one I would seek your aid with, if you would offer it." The Kamir takes a little while to consider the request, allowing his hand to fall away from the stone and rest at his side as he paces quietly on the moonlit grass. "It can be done," Marrokamir says at last, stopping on the other side of Serath and turning to face the ranger once more. "The energy must be channeled from the Shadow Core." He regards the wall again, then speaks in a matter-of-fact tone: "Should I succeed as a conduit, my corporeal form will lose cohesion and I should be able to leave this world. I can go forth among the stars, find those of my kind that yet survive." "Through my avatar, I will do what I can to displace the taint that those who forged this creation, and who stored the shadow within to subvert the light beyond, and channel it through you. The aid that I once granted Timon'kamir shall now be extended to one who was taken from his place in the natural order and brought here. Should we succeed in this quest, Marro'kamir, I wish you the peace of the Light, and the serenity to find your lost people, should they still call the heavens home." The soft, lilting voice of a Dragoness is replaced once more by the more conventional regal purr of Serath Kahar. "Light only knows how she expects me to do this." he offers as an aside, tapping the Aegis wall lightly with his right hand before drawing the steel longsword from its slumber at his hip and then pitching it, tip first, into the yielding soil beneath. "But we can but try. Though it may not mean much from a race as young as my own to one as old as yours, Marrokamir, I thank you." Marrokamir inclines his head slightly and, for the first time since his arrival in the here and now of the world of Il'ish'ahlashar, a crooked smile graces his angular face. "A Drakar’ri serving the Light. I cannot help but find such a concept... amusing." He smacks his palm on the stone. "Whenever you are ready, we can begin." “She was a rare one, apparently." Serath agrees, the Prince taking a measure of mirth from Marrokamir's own unexpected display of emotion as he turns back to the matter at hand, tracing a line with his finger down the side of the old granite before permitting it to stop upon that single distinctive and utterly out of place slab of obsidian. "Now, how to start this? Negating the power of a Mage is one thing, but a wall the size of the Aegis... " He takes a deep breath, backpedals a few paces away from the Aegis, and then kneels in front of the pitched cross of the steel longsword he previously planted into the earth. Wrapping both hands around the hilt of that weapon - one above the other - the Prince begins the attempt by closing his eyes, and regulating his breathing pattern. The Kamir closes his own eyes, lifts his face to bathe in moonlight, and spreads his arms out at a narrow angle. A shadowy purple aura begins to coalesce around him, writhing its way from the tips of the blades of grass at his feet, up and around his legs, around his waist, coiling across his chest, and finally masking his head. His eyes open and the cerulean glow of his eyes has been muted to a pale mossy hue. For his own part, Serath begins to emanate an aura of his own. In contrast to the shadowy aura of his Kamir companion, Serath's is a pure white light, as clear as it is holy. It would seem that the trick here is not to cancel out Marrokamir's own control of the Shadow as he himself serves as conduit for the Light; a balance that, given Marrokamir's control, seems to be juggled well. Slowly, Marrokamir reaches out toward the obsidian stone that proved so symbolic to the downfall of the world as he had known it, and touches his fingertips to the cool black rock. A brief flash of blue marks the connection of Shadow and stone, and suddenly there's a roiling of dark energy that shifts within the very stones that form the Aegis. Black cirrus clouds of mordant energy start draining from left, right, above, and below ... toward the Kamir's fingertips. The Aegis curse made manifest. "Now," mutters the Shadow-writhed outsider to the luminescent Prince. "So be it." At that command the Prince opens his eyes, his gaze fixated upon the Aegis ahead of him. The auras of shadow whirl with the auras of light, culminating in a column of purity ascending from the kneeling Prince and rising into the heavens to part the clouds above. The events that follow seem to happen in rapid succession: There's a flare of channeled power from beyond this realm of existence, sparking a raw manifestation of the Light as spiritual draconian wings, as insubstantial as they are awesome, blossom from Serath's back. Night turns to day as the Prince serves as catalyst between the /here/ and the /there/ beyond, the Avatar of the White Dragon bring her ancient powers to bear as he attempts to void the entire Aegis Curse. Above the pair, in a vertical line above and beyond where that single stone of darkness rested, a fissure begins to form within the rock of the Aegis. With these manifestations comes a deep, tremulous thrumming in the earth itself. Chunks of the Aegis tumble from hundreds of feet up, bouncing off some unseen protective field that now surrounds the pair. Marrokamir hunches a little, burdened not by the collapsing debris but by the energy channeled through him. "Not... much... longer," he says through clenched teeth. In the sky above, beyond the clouds and seemingly before the moons, as the fissure continues to grow in the Aegis, a latticework of red lines flickers, flares, and then goes dark. Where Marrokamir is burdened, it would seem that Serath himself has been relieved of a great weight. While his Kamir companion struggles, Serath merely stands. Where his Kamir companion labors, Serath walks free of such trouble. His path leads him around the longsword and to Marrokamir's side, the Prince placing a gloved hand upon the arm of the taller figure, offering a soft nod in turn. Above the two, the fissure grows, yet the falling rocks hold their place within the sky above, halted in mid-fall. It is if time has been brought to a halt... and yet not at all. "I deem the terms of our trade fulfilled, Marrokamir." the lilting voice of Sara'tharalax offers, "You are free to find your people. May the stars guide your wings, the light warm your face, and the shadow cower in your wake." The wings dissipate as smoothly as they had flared; the Princes hair now a radiant silver, devoid of all of their previous color. The aura remains, as does the channeled power. "Serenity will calm this storm, and we shall have atoned for Timon'kamir's unknowing sins. The silver dawn has risen. It can only continue to soar." "Thank you," the Kamir replies, turning a Shadow-masked gaze up toward the Prince. "May your world thrive anew." And then the roiling purple shrouds begin to unravel from Marrokamir's hunched form, twirling around the shaft of silver light that marks the path of the fissure toward the sky. But where the shrouds should end and the Kamir begins becomes intermingled, and threads of Marrokamir's corporeal form follow the swirl of energy around the pillar to the waiting stars until Serath stands alone. And stand alone he does, watching the last tendrils of the reborn Marrokamir ascend towards the stars, and the answers to the questions that he seeks, before turning his attention to the chunks of Aegis that hang suspending in the air above him, threatening to come crashing down upon both himself, and those behind him. "Pesky." he comments to no one in particular. "Indeed." replies the lilting voice of his Drakar’ri matron. "For too long have your people depending on this wall. Perhaps it is time to teach them to depend on their own nature." "Perhaps you're right." Serath affirms, raising his right hand towards those blocks and then... re-channeling their descent. The fissure and the rocks that were cast from it begin to construct a part of the Aegis anew; a section that leaves the gap intact, providing a neat "H" shaped channel between the gap that presents a path to the Wildlands beyond, and the new road that Fastheld may yet walk. With the casual air of a man at peace with the world around him, Serath offers one final glance towards the stars, whispers something that only he can hear, and then turns away from the Aegis to retrieve the previously planted longsword. With a gentle heft, the blade is pulled free from the ground below before finally being set to slumber within the scabbard at his hip once more. ---- ''Return to Season 6 (2007) Category:Logs